


All Of My Flaws (And All Of Yours)

by rnainframe (genop0ke)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Kaiju Newt AU, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim (2013), Seizures, Self-Harm, Spiraling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 05:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18844906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genop0ke/pseuds/rnainframe
Summary: Pacific Rim drabbles. One word prompts. Mainly based around Newt and his relationship with Hermann.Also see "All Of Your Flaws (And All Of Mine)" by Ursa_Tattoo!





	1. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Becoming a Kaiju, becoming even half-Kaiju, is... a nightmare for your self-image.

“Look at me, Herms…” The monster weeps, hidden and trapped in a hollowed-out cave, a cove people often sneak to in order to get up to no good in the water. A towering beast, barely able to fit himself into the space without risking ruining the natural structure shielding him from the view of those on the coast. 

The other man stands on a simple fishing vessel, supporting himself with an oar as if it was his cane. His hands are shaky, but his look is stable. “You are no such thing, Geiszler,” he insists. 

“But… are you  _blind_? Look at me…" 

"I’m not, and I can see you quite well, even without my glasses to make out the full picture better. You aren’t rampaging wildly like some beast, are you?”

“…no…" 

Hermann paddles closer, resting a hand on the kaiju. "Then you’re not a monster, I assure you that." 


	2. Scalding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drifting with a Kaiju is hard to handle. Newt knows this better than anyone.

_Drifting_. 

With someone you’re not compatible with, it’s like briefly touching a hot stove. With someone you are compatible with, it’s like slipping into the shower when it’s the perfect temperature. 

With a  _Kaiju_? It’s like getting sprayed with a fire hose pumping scalding hot water into your face, and you’re too busy being blinded by the flow to figure out how to turn it off. 

The water is also not  _really_ water. It’s more like if you mixed together the strongest, punch-in-the-face level hallucinogenic street drugs and liquefied it. Sure, you see some  _really fucking cool and weird shit_ , but you’re left foaming at the mouth and bleeding from the ears just inside the bathroom of a gas station after it wears off. 

But… this  _isn’t_ a gas station, and the blood  _isn’t_ coming from your ears. It’s coming from your  _nose_ and bubbling up in your  _eye_ , and instead of foam it’s just a watered-down-by-saliva mix of  _more_ blood. And your head is  _pounding_ , and everything is  _spinning_ , and you can’t  _see, you can’t **see** , but you  **can** see and you can and can’t  **feel** and  **hear** it all  **screaming** in your  **ears** and in your  **head** and_–

–a button is pressed. Distant words reach your ears, muffled by the  _ringing_ and the  _roaring_ and the  _pain_ and it just  _hurts_ and you were such an  _idiot_ and now you’re going to  _die_ in the most  _undignified_ - 

“Newton… Newton, can you hear me?” A worried, British-toned voice murmurs as you thrash and tremble in a familiar pair of twiggy arms. Your breaths come out as quickly as they go in, and all you can do is whimper and make vague attempts at choking noises in response. 

The lights are all too bright, and yet you can’t see them through your twitching eyelids despite how it feels as if the sun is right up in your face, burning your skin so much that even your sweat is scalding, and everything  _spins_ and  _spins and **spins** and  **spins**_ –

You come to, jiggling your leg rapid-fire against the support of a chair, a steady hand offering your quivering fingers a glass topped-off with cold water. 

You choke it down as three legs, two organic and one of carved wood, quickly make way out of the lab to return with two more on steadier ground. 

“…what did you see? Why did you do it alone?” You recall being asked. 

_“…too much… too… t-t-too **much** ….” _


	3. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An argument gone too far, a brain determined to self-destruct.

Newton Geiszler is hurt.

Not for any rational reason, of course. None of that. Not with  _his_ brain. 

The hurt isn’t even caused by anyone in particular, unless you count himself as someone enough to be anyone. Even if sometimes he feels as if he is no one, only acknowledged by the seething counterattacks of Hermann Gottlieb in their heated debacles. Even if sometimes he feels as if he is everyone, in the sense that he can feel the pressure of the entire world on his shoulders, attuning his focus to be on his work and only his work and nothing but his work for if he makes a single mistake it could cost  _everyone_. 

No, no, this hurt is on his own accord. 

Simply for the crime of thinking too much.

Maybe Hermann genuinely detests him, and the occasional moments of solace and agreement are merely facades in order to twist the knife further into his back when the time comes that he’s no longer needed. Maybe Pentecost hired him out of pity, maybe all of his doctorates are just meaningless sheets of paper that hold no value in this world. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe,  _maybe_. 

But maybe not. 

As he sits back in his room, thumbing one of his elastic wristbands and rearing it back with a fingertip, he simmers in his hurt. Not his pain, not his aches, his  _hurt_. It’s not real pain or sorrow, so it is simply… hurt. As he releases his grasp on the thin black band and feels the  _hurt_ of it rapidly reasserting itself as placed snugly against the skin of his wrist, he blinks and blinks and blinks until his vision is a strobing display of the ceiling and fuzzy afterimages of eyelids. 

A knock, a rapping, a fist against his door. He sucks in a deep breath and swallows his hurt, sitting up and swinging his feet to the floor and pulling himself upright and ignoring all of the hurt hurt hurt until he’s ignored his way to the door and unlocked the door and opened the door and  _Hermann_. 

 "…are you quite alright, Newton? I was afraid we must have gone too far this time,“ the mathematician asks, a hint of concern about the  _hurt_ emanating from the biologist tinged in his accented voice. 

 ”…yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. I just wanna turn in early tonight. No hurt feelings,“ the biologist lies, his voice being shaken by his hurt and his eyes being strained by his hurt and oh my god does he feel so guilty so hurt for raising his voice just one bit and potentially causing Hermann to get hurt by his words and– 

A hand on his shoulder, a stern look. "You are lying." 

He shakes it off. ”…no, I’m fine.“ 

He closes the door, and continues to hurt. 


End file.
